


Closed Doors and Open Curtains

by ophelia_hamlet



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Human AU, It's all love, NSFW, TW: Dub-Con for like a second, Voyeurism, but really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-13 15:24:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2155551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ophelia_hamlet/pseuds/ophelia_hamlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara Oswald does not do relationships. But then, neither does her neighbour. ( AU The Doctor and Clara are neighbours and start regular sessions of mutual voyeurism )</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> First, I apologize for ever writing such a thing in the first place. But then, everyone knows I shouldn't be left alone with a computer and a working WIFI after dark ;)
> 
> Second, I mean no offense whatsoever to anyone who might be shocked by the story. This is a tale of mutual trust and adult enjoyment, meant to be read for one's pleasure.
> 
> And of course, I don't own the characters (sigh)
> 
> Work unbeta'd ( but if anyone wants to volunteer, I'd be greatful :) )
> 
> Reviews are love

_Closed doors and open curtains_

Chapter One:

 

She opens the door and steps inside the room, unsure of what to do and what to say. She shouldn’t be here, staring at the darkness, breathing in and out her fear of the unknown.

***

Clara is a waitress in a London night-club. She works late, listening to rock and techno resonating from the dance-floor, while mixing fluorescent liquids containing more alcohol than she’s allowed to say, and serving them to a youthful crowd gleefully decadent. She appreciates the show in front of her. Young and healthy bodies, half naked and half drunk, swaying hips and crushing lips.

Wandering hands lose themselves under tight top tanks and tighter skirts. Warmth and sweat are emanating these moving bodies, gravity pulling. It’s a trance, addictive and contagious, with no cure but the sunlight. Night is a catalyst.

Clara has never been more aroused in her whole life. She sees, feels this sexual energy without having to be part of it. Behind the bar, she knows herself protected by a physical and metaphorical barrier. She’s part of the décor, a well-oiled gear of a much bigger and darker mechanism, ever growing and ever improving. An order, a fiver, a glass filled and sometimes, a suggestive look, a wink, a thank you, a brush of the hand and the next customer is already talking to her. She is the face they recognize then forget as soon as she’s served them. Clara feels privileged.

Even though the night club is not the best you can find in Central London (and expensive as s***).

She knows she’s under paid, exploited by her boss who probably doesn’t know her last name and ignored by her colleagues who do not care to bound with virtual strangers. Clara couldn’t have found a better place to work at, the environment is perfect for her: the safety of the bar, the job’s anonymity and a prime spot to observe London’s decadence.

She works six hours per day, four nights a week from 10pm to 4am. She exits the night-club completely knackered every night, her mind in a secondary state, too full of deafening sounds and flashing lights.

The tube’s not yet operating at this early hour so her boss, who is not a heartless bastard, pays for her cab. 10 minutes later, she is in front of her door, hands fumbling in her bag in search of her keys. The same bag gets thrown away as soon as she’s inside, so are her shoes, before collapsing on her bed, clothes and make-up still on, and crashing into sleep, numb and delighted.

Later in the day, her alarm clock goes off. It’s 10 AM, and Clara starts a new day.

***

Clara lives in a nice flat in South Kensington thanks to her friend Nina who let her rent it from her for a ridiculously low price while she’s away saving the world in Africa. It’s a one bedroom/one bathroom (with a shower AND a bath, please) on the last floor of a newly renovated Georgian building with access to a private terrace on the roof.

Clara prefers to live alone for the very good reason that she is unable to share her intimacy with another person. Clara is not afraid of other people (and the taekwondo classes she’s taking are not proof of the contrary. But she is _only_ 5’2 and working night shifts). She takes the tube every day, goes to the public library to work on her thesis, goes to work in an over-crowded night-club four times a week and goes home, in the silence and the solitude of her flat.

But Clara is afraid that other people might ask too much of her. Never in 24 years has she found herself naked with another person in the same room. She’s far too clever to let that happen. She feels powerless so close to a naked body (the few times it happened, she was fully-clothed and decidedly _not_ in her natural element) and she runs each time a relationship becomes too serious.

She could live a perfectly healthy life (sex toys _are_ a wonderful invention) if she hadn’t accidentally discovered, because of badly drawn curtains and a very prying neighbour of hers, that she enjoys to expose her naked self to the scrutiny of strangers. And that she wasn’t completely against some reciprocity. In the end, she understood that it was all about control.

***

She is 24 and she swears that never again will she let Jeremiah Perowne come next to her again unless he wants all the bones in his hand (and his nose) to be broken one by one. She agrees that going out for a drink with him wasn’t her best idea. But he had been nice to her when she had needed help for her History exam and he’d never attempted anything like the stunt he pulled on her just an hour ago.

They were sitting at the bar, sipping colourful cocktails to celebrate the end of their exam period when she felt his hand on her knee, slowly making its way up her thigh and his nose breathing down her neck.

“You turn me on, Oswald. Let’s get out of here.”

She spills her drink on him, grabs her bag and slaps him hard across the face. He is so stunned that he forgets how to speak for a few seconds and she doesn’t want to stick around for an insult or an apology. So she leaves the establishment and hails a cab. She can’t stop shaking.

In retrospective, she knows she was probably too harsh on Jeremiah but her body simply took over her mind, like an over-zealous defence mechanism with no turn-off button. Jeremiah will text her eight times that night. The first seven are all apologies and begs of second chances. She feels positively awful. The eighth one is an insult. She blocks him and directly heads for the shower, too eager to wash off his scent that seems to be sticking to her like a disease. She scrubs herself five times over, using all of her scented soaps and shampoos. She exits the bathroom exhausted, her towel wrapped tightly over her dripping body. She sits in her favourite armchair, facing the window. She falls asleep a few minutes later, forgetting that her curtains are only half-drawn and that the light is still on. The towel falls off from her chest soon afterwards.

At first, she just notices that the lamp is still on and the odd sensation of freshness on her chest. Once her eyes are accustomed to the vivid light and her mind registered where she is, she finally notices the curtains. Or rather, the space between them. And also her neighbour, from the house in front of hers, looking intently in her direction, while sitting cross-legged in his armchair, smirking – and completely naked.

The thing about her street is that it’s not really a street. It’s an alleyway too narrow to allow any large vehicle to circulate in it. So the privacy of one’s home is really all about curtains and lighting. Like her lamp still on and her curtains half-open permitting her next door neighbour to enjoy an incredible view on her uncovered breasts.

Suddenly, she can’t move a muscle. Aware that she is sitting so awkwardly in her chair that any attempt of covering more of her body with the towel will probably have the opposite effect. Her neighbour (she doesn’t know his name, has never met him before, which is not really surprising considering the hours she works) is a relatively young man with a bit of a chin and a big flop of dark hair. He is rather handsome, if you give it some time. In any other situation, she’d understand his assurance concerning his nakedness. But right now, Clara is not in the mood to philosopher and Chinboy doesn’t seem to be very concerned by her predicament or even his voyeurism being discovered. If anything, she’d swear his grin has widened (it’s really early, the clock on the wall indicates a quarter to six, so she can’t be sure.)

A rush of anger overtakes her and the desire of teaching him a lesson becomes stronger by the minute. Which is when she discovers that she feels no shame or no horror at her situation. The realisation dawns on her. For the first time since puberty, her being naked in front of somebody, a stranger even, does not alarm her in the slightest.

She is in complete control of her emotions and the urge to flee she felt last night or so many times before has completely vanished. Actually, it’s not true. It hasn’t just vanished. It’s just not been there to begin with.

So she does the most amazing thing.

She gets up, the towel falling at her feet, gloriously naked and smiles right back at him.

He seems to falter a bit and she guesses it’s probably a good thing he is sitting. She waits five seconds, making sure he takes her all in and then reaches for the curtains, drawing them to a close.

Aloud she says “I’m the boss”.

She heads for the bedroom and doesn’t bother to put something on before slipping into the sheets.

***

She didn’t really mean for “the incident”, as she called it, to be part of a string of others “incidents”. She swears the following morning that whatever happened with ChinBoy would not have an impact on her life. That she would continue to go on with her life as if nothing had changed. Well, they always told her she was a bad liar.

To be fair, it’s not all her fault. Her days had become longer while waiting for her exam results and she was idly looking at the university website, browsing for some information on a future doctorate’s degree she wanted to take. She already had a good idea on what she wanted to work on. If she could get her Master’s degree in Children’s Psychology, the next step would be an in-depth analysis of the evaluation of school’s environment on the child’s development. In a few words, she had the will to go further but not yet the means for it.

Which is why she was bored out of her mind and therefore, willing to do almost anything to kill the time. And working part-time in a nightclub wasn’t cutting it.

At first, she thought she could use the opportunity of all this free time to catch up on some reading, see some friends, go to the movies, anything studies usually got in the way of. After a week, she couldn’t see a book without wanting to throw it out of the window. Her friends were still telling the same old stories and the movies were more than disappointing. She then tried to remember the last time she hadn’t been bored, just to see if it would spring up some new ideas and her mind mechanically turned to the window. And this is when things went from odd to completely bonkers.

She was shopping  with her friend Donna who was actively talking about her last boyfriend’s ( Donald or Damian ) blunder at her parent’s house when she spotted him in the children’s department, wearing the store uniform and amusing some kids with a remote-controlled helicopter. Big floppy hair, unmistakable chin and a seriously outdated bowtie.

Her initial reaction was to hide and carefully make her way out of the mall, hoping that Donna would follow without too many questions. An idea that would have worked perfectly well if said friend hadn’t been looking in the same direction, and forcibly dragged Clara by the arm past Chinboy and the giggling children:

“Oh Clara, come! I need your help to choose a present for my niece that doesn’t scream “future beauty queen“ or “Brat-to-be””

You had to give it to Donna, she knew how to make an entrance, even in the kid’s department.

Clara’s luck being what it was, he recognized her instantly, blushing furiously and crashing the helicopter into one of the book shelves. That was it, he was going to come and talk to her and she would have to move out from Nina’s wonderful apartment.

However, no such thing happened.

Instead of shaming her in front of an unsuspicious Donna, he turned from her and went the other way, hastily informing his manager that he was taking his 10 minutes break, before disappearing behind the doors of the elevator, never glancing at her.

She was dumbfounded at his flight for a few seconds before understanding that he probably didn’t want to make a scene at his job. After all, she was a stranger to him and even he was the one that instigated the “incident”, he had the right to his privacy. And there was also the possibility that he just didn’t want to talk to her. Which she could also understand, if she were to compare her own behaviour from a few minutes ago.

Not really pleased by that last hypothesis, she tried to forget what just transpired and hurried Donna to choose something before taking the elevator towards women’s wear.  

***

After ten minutes spent in women’s wear, Clara finally caught up with her breathing and the blissfully ignorant Donna had provided the distraction she sorely needed: gossip at the office. And because Donna could do three things at the same time, she continued to talk while changing herself in one of the cabin rooms (she spotted a red dress she simply _had_ to try on) and allowed Clara some time to think for herself.

She had been stupid not to consider that an encounter might have happened. And even more so since he was her neighbour. She had been bound to run into him and she was now certain it would not be the last.

She had to devise a plan of action, some kind of strategy to avoid further accidental meetings.

She could not move and she would not move. That was definitely not on the table.

He probably wouldn’t either. As embarrassed as he was a few minutes ago, he had also been very assured that early morning in front of the window. He was a bit of a pervert (ok, a lot) but Clara still couldn’t shake that intoxicating feeling of power and overcoming sensuality she had experienced that day. She still shivered at the thought of it and she had come several time, her fingers frantically working down her body and deep inside her, the image of his face, surprised but aroused, when she had got up like Venus born from the sea foam, gloriously naked and unashamed.

She could hardly imagined what he must have thought of her in that instant, revealing herself as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

She still questioned his motives. Was he trying to frighten her? If his earlier reaction was any indication, she’d say no. He seemed shier in real life, far more than in the safety of his apartment. But then, wasn’t it the description of most unadapted people (she refused to re-use the P-word. It seemed inappropriate and conceited) when it came to society?

No, she shook her head. She couldn’t see him like that. The furious blushing she'd seen on his face had touched her, somehow. She decided that he was probably looking for someone to understand him rather than to judge him. So how was she going to remedy to the situation? She could not just wait around for another disastrous encounter to happen. And the thought of just knocking on his door frightened her. Not that she was afraid of him. But she feared that it would ruin the memory of whatever transpired between them, break the spell if she were to talk to him face to face. And she did not want to let it go without a fight.

That’s when it caught her eye.

Just on the floor, discarded by a former customer, was a rather interesting set of undergarments. She picked it up to take a closer look. It was black and unassuming and also far more attractive than anything she’d ever possessed. She had never been one for beautiful lingerie. She never saw the necessity of owning something that would never be glanced upon by someone else than her and the cashier. Also, she was against torturing her body into complicated, unpractical underwear. However, looking at the undergarments in her hands, feeling the soft fabric under her fingertips, an idea sprang in her mind.

Quickly, she told Donna she was going to be in the next cabin, trying on a dress she’d just seen.  Donna, unaffected by her friend’s words, went on with her one-sided discussion.

Clara disrobed completely and tried the underwear on. A perfect match. She looked amazing. Breath-taking even, all modesty forgotten

(She really was not, modest.)

Suddenly, a familiar heat rose in her low belly and her reflection began to look flushed. It was too good an opportunity to let go and-

The curtain behind her opened in one sharp movement, letting a smirking Donna appear while Clara quickly grabbed her dress to hide behind.

“Donna!”

“A dress you said? Well, that’s not exactly what I’d wear to go to work but then I suppose I haven’t been in a nightclub in ages. “

“Yes, well, it’s not what you think. I was just curious to see how it’d look. It’s not like I’m going to buy it or to wear it. I mean, it’s not my style at all and-“

“Stop right there, young lady. I’m not judging you or anything. I’m just amused and frankly appalled you’d think you could fool me. I knew something was up as soon as I heard your “unassuming voice” (She mimed the brackets). Darling, you really need to work on your lying, it’s far too obvious for your own good. “

“But I…”

“Tut tut! Look at you, you’re gorgeous and there’s no reason to be ashamed. Why shouldn’t you feel good in your own body? Buy it! Treat yourself to something nice. You deserve it. You’ve been working your arse off on this master’s degree and I know you’re going to pass it with flying colours. The Clara Oswald I know wouldn’t let it happen any other way.”

Clara was looking at herself, her reflection telling her a new story about her body. She had known that she was pretty, charming even. But what she was seeing in the mirror was far more than that. She found herself smiling.

“Thanks Donna. I’ll take it. Now, get out of my cabin before anyone accuses us of stealing or something.”

“Or something…”

Donna winked and drew the curtain.

She glanced one last time at the flattering image in front of her and laughed. Clara Oswald was on the war path.

***

Once she got back home, she had a fully formed plan ready to be put in action. Quickly, she went to her room and searched through her belongings. Two minutes later, she finally found what she was looking for: a Polaroid.

An hour after that, she sealed an envelope, full of photographs and an invitation to look at the window around midnight. It was her way to say sorry. He could either accept the apology and show up or remain silent and keep the pictures. She had made sure her face was cut out of the frame so that he wouldn’t have anything incriminating on her if he chose to publish them but somehow, she knew he wouldn’t. Now, all she had to do, was wait and hope.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone ! Here's the second chapter coming your way. Thank you for hitting the Kudos and/or commenting, it feels really nice to see that the story is appreciated.   
> In this fic, Clara has been the Latimer's nanny rather than the Maitland, it's for a reason, I'm sure you'll see why when you read the story. As for the smut, well, it's not as long as I would have wanted but their interactions are very limited so wait a bit, it'll get steamier as they get to know each other in the following chapters.
> 
> Love, Callie.

Chapter two :

Clara is a lovely young woman. Nice legs ( if a bit short ), slender with some beautiful curves. Her face is gracious and she likes that she decided to let her hair grow a little longer this year, it compliments her brown eyes that she used to find a bit dull.

Her high school years were a nightmare when confronted to the bubbling hormones of promiscuous teenagers. Destabilised by the faintest corporal contact, repelled by the unmasked advances of some boys and disgusted by unwanted tongues trying to force their way through her teeth, Clara still managed to maintain the mask of impassivity and indifference. Which, of course, was more arousing to brainless boys than discouraging.

So, in order to protect herself, she started to hide behind large, unflattering clothes and buy fake glasses that she would only put on at school, as to not alarm her father. The specs would hide her face without complimenting it. In the space of a few weeks, she had mastered the art of invisibility. It took some better acting on her part but soon, the boys turned their eyes away from her to look at the other girls, far more willing to display their womanly attributes than she was.

After spending a few years avoiding anyone’s radar, she took her A-levels and went to university, forgetting her fake glasses and her oversized jumpers behind her as she left high school. The return of her normal clothing made a newfound freedom rhyme with revelation. In the streets, university corridors and shops, she hardly went unnoticed but at last, she wasn’t alarmed by the attention anymore. The last years had permitted her to develop several defence mechanisms that kept unwanted admirers at bay and she could finally enjoy her university days without so much as a worry.

She had left her childhood home and lived in a nice family house in Crouch End before moving to South Kensington. London made her the most unusual gift after having spent most of her years in a little town : the anonymity of large crowds.

Working as a waitress didn’t become a necessity until she completed her Bachelor in English literature. Before that, she used to be a nanny, for the Latimers. She stayed three years with them, helping a clueless father get to know his clever children. They had lost their mother when they were really young and the Captain- due to his various missions in the Middle East- hadn’t been around long enough to develop any parental instinct.

Clara liked to think her presence made a difference. She was needed and she did her job well, alternating university and house chores far more gracefully than she originally thought possible. Capt. Latimer had been grateful of her arrival, even if a bit confused on how to behave around a young woman at first.

Not that he had been inappropriate. She liked to think of him as a gentleman, a rare breed amongst men, even if a bit clueless and outdated in some areas. He had only touched her once, at her second Christmas with them. It was nearly midnight, she was helping putting the gifts under the tree after the children had gone to bed and he decided to give hers right away. It was a beautiful leather bounded notebook : “to write all your thoughts in” he had said.

What followed was partly her fault: she had forgotten herself a bit, the wine at dinner helping, and she had thrust her arms around his neck, immensely grateful and a bit tipsy. She felt his arms come around her waist and the most feverish kiss between her neck and her shoulders.

She had shivered and stiffened involuntarily, and as if the spell of Christmas and alcohol had lost their effect on both of them, he took a step back, furiously blushing and almost stuttered.

“ I profoundly apologizes, Ms. Oswald. I’m not myself tonight. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

He went directly upstairs, to his room, and Clara reflected alone and a bit thrown, that it was the first time since her first week with them that he had used her last name while addressing her. She also reflected on the embrace, later that night, and thought that, maybe, she didn’t mind the kiss so much, even if she wasn’t really keen on repeating it with Capt. Latimer.

The next day, all was forgotten. The next week, he finally met Lorna, who was to become the second Mrs. Latimer a few days before her third and last Christmas with them.

***

After leaving the Latimers and moving in Nina’s life-saving apartment, Clara had taken up waitressing through one of her university classmate who knew a barmaid at the club.

Clara had just decided that English literature, as much as she loved it, wasn’t what she was meant to do with her life. Working with children was and she moved heaven and earth to get accepted in a Master of Children Psychology. She took up more courses than any other student and worked harder than ever before to catch up with her gaps in knowledge.

Which is why she put a halt into discovering just how far she was ready to go with someone else and was left to imagine what could happen each time a man ( or a woman, sometimes) winked at her from their side of the counter.

Sitting in her armchair - naked and worried of having her offer being rejected - she mulled over the past years and truly believed that whatever she was doing with her neighbour (or rather, about to do again, if she had played her cards well), was her chance to explore her own sexuality.

She had been afraid long enough, not wanting to let anyone have their chance with her. She was conscious that this was a rather unorthodox first dive into “it”, but then, she was hardly normal herself.

She looked at the clock on the wall beside her : 11:58. She could not stop biting her nails and she scolded herself from not painting them earlier.

11:59, she was a ball of nerves, suddenly hyper-aware of her own body. Should she have shaved herself completely ? She shook her head. She was a woman, not a porn star ( although, it could be argued). She still had the black underwear on, just in case he was a no show or worse, still clothed and unwilling to go further.

Midnight. She got up, took a deep breath and… pulled the curtains open. What she observed across the road destabilised her completely: she saw nothing.

She looked a bit more closely, trying to see through the darkness of his apartment. Maybe she should open the window ?

She was about to do it when the light came on. She took a step back and he was there, sitting in his armchair, crossed legged and very, very naked. She blushed, waved ( _why did you do that ?_ ) and sat as well.

She smiled at him, nervous and not sure of what to do next. If she was honest, she hadn’t really thought it through after the opening of curtains. She just assumed he would be there and that it would come naturally. She relied on him to guide her to do what was necessary. Maybe she should have asked for his number.

And as if on cue, he took a large white cardboard resting on the floor beside him and showed it to her. On it was a phone number. Quickly, she got up while she reprimanded herself for not thinking about it earlier. Of course, he would want to speak with her. Which was fine by her. She had questions to ask him.

She finally found her phone at the bottom of her handbag and returned as quickly as possible. She dialled his number in front of him and he picked up immediately. She put him on speaker and laid down the phone on the table just next to her. His voice resonated in her flat and nearly made her jump.

“ Hello, I’m the Doctor. What’s your name ?”

She let a nervous laugh escape her. “ And I’m supposed to call you that ? A bit pretentious isn’t it ? I’m Clara. No title.”

He chuckled “ Well, I happen to think it’s a bit sexy as well. And yes, I’d like you to use it, please. Hello, Clara. Nice to finally make your acquaintance.”

She is transfixed by his voice and his demeanour. He seems completely at ease with himself and his voice betrays a confidence and a hint of pride he didn’t seem to have back at the shop. She likes the way he talks, she decides. A low, hypnotic voice, throaty and warm, like butter on a burning toast. Like his tongue on her feverish body…

“Nice to finally make yours. Even if I wasn’t aware of it until that last morning. Do you often introduce yourself to your neighbours that way ? Naked and unapologetic ?”

It’s his turn to laugh. “ No, it’s just you. And I have noticed you a long time ago. When you moved in actually. I hope it’s not creepy but you completely won me over that day. You were wearing a small red dress and your hair was tied in a bun and you looked absolutely charming. I couldn’t wait to meet you.”

She fidgets in her armchair. “ That was almost two years ago. I’m not even sure I still have that dress anymore. Why didn’t you say something ?”

He stays silent for over a minute. If she hadn’t been directly looking at him, she could have sworn he had left. But he is still there, seemingly unsure of what to say or how to formulate his thought. At last, she hears him again :

“ I am not… I do not make the first move in relationship with women I find attractive. It’s difficult for me to speak to them. I’m a bit of a recluse when it comes to the others. I’m sorry if I’m not very clear… I don’t speak about it often.”

She feels for him. She regrets her earliest thoughts of him, thinking he might be getting off on scaring young women (he probably did a bit but she can see there’s more to it than meet the eye.). She clearly sees he just needs company.

“ I understand perfectly. I’ve never been one for relationship myself. I always thought I’d end up alone. Is it just women or is it everyone ?”

She unwantedly looks down and remembers she is wearing nothing but her underwear and tries not to smile at her situation. Here she is, making conversation to a total stranger, wearing next to nothing while he is completely naked. Her hobbies are definitely not conventional. And right this minute, she wouldn’t change one single thing.

“ It used to be everyone but I got better and now, it’s just when it has to do with intimacy. I don’t have a lot of friends either. And you ? You don’t seem like the usual girl either. Most people wouldn’t send so pretty pictures after an encounter like ours. Thank you by the way. You look… incredible.”

She shivers and a familiar heat makes its way down her spine and into her lower belly. “ I don’t do very well with intimacy either. I am not used to being touched. I haven’t liked it very much so far. Except once. But it was a mistake. And you’re welcome.”

“ Maybe you haven’t found the right person yet. Do you think you could support being touched one day ? Or even take pleasure in being touched ?”

His voice has dropped an octave and she is most definitely wet. When has it become so warm in here ?

“ I think I could definitely take pleasure in it. If it has happened once already, why not twice ? But it’s not something I would rush. I would only run away.”

He smiles and she knows he got what he wanted : a promise to try. With him.

“ I will be patient then. Not that I was planning on rushing things myself. I think we suffer from the same fear. Do you trust me, Clara ?”

She nods instantly and she is not sure when it came from. But for the life of her, she does trust him.

“ I do. I’m not sure why. Can I really trust you ?”

He doesn’t skip a beat.

“ You can. As long as you’re with me, you don’t have to be afraid. I hope you can return the favour.” “You can.” “Good.”

They smile at each other, conscious of having reached a turning point in their relationship. And as if to seal their relationship, Clara takes the wheel and gets up before discarding her bra on the floor. She hears him stop breathing for few seconds. He can’t take his eyes off her.

“ Do you like what you see ?” This is a genuine question. She knows she is not repulsive or anything near it, but she never really had a second opinion either.

“ Very much. I think you look beautiful. Your breasts look perfect, Clara. I’m sure they feel heavenly as well. Why don’t you touch them for me ? I would very much like to see you pleasure yourself.”

She shakes a bit but that’s not fear. It’s excitement and she recalls being in her bed the night before last, trying to reach climax and failing. She knows she won’t fail tonight.

She raises her hands and caresses her hips and her belly before reaching her breasts and it’s her turn to stop breathing for a few seconds. She looks at him looking at her, never taking his eyes off her hands and she feels her knickers getting wet and slightly uncomfortable. But she won’t stop and she continues to massage her breasts and pinching the tip. She moans and he immediately reciprocates and she swears, it’s the most erotic sound in the world.

He finally uncrosses his legs and at last, she can admire him entirely. He is fully erect and has nothing to be ashamed of ( if the internet is anything to go by). He starts stroking himself at a slow pace and she wants to lower her hands as well.

“Are you wet, Clara ? I can tell you are by the way you squeeze your legs together. Don’t you want to do something about it ?”

She does. God, she does, and it’s driving her crazy. So she takes hold of her knickers- completely soaked by now- with her two hands, and let them fall down her legs. “ Oh god, Clara, it bears repeating, you’re perfect. Touch yourself, I’m begging you.”

She knows she won’t be able to stay up much longer so she steps backward to the armchair and let herself fall down before spreading her legs, putting each of them on one of the armrests as to give him maximum exposure. All her inhibitions have left her and the only thing that matters is her pleasure and his. His moans have increased considerably and never cease to make her shudder. She almost cries with relief when her fingers finally reaches her clit. She starts rubbing herself and almost come on the spot but she stops herself, not wanting to put an end at their session quite yet. She wants to see him come before her. She wants to know what she can do to a man before reciprocating.

“ Are you close, Doctor ? Do you want to come ?”

He has difficulties speaking, she can tell. His eyes are fixed on her fingers, his hand moving fast up and down his shaft. He is almost there.

“ I think… I won’t… last… very much…longer, Clara.” “Come now, Doctor.” She puts her fingers inside herself and she hears him cry of relief and she knows she has succeeded. For the first time in her life, Clara Oswald has made a man come with pleasure and that revelation achieves her own climax. She shouts, loud and clear, her eyes tightly shut, and it’s the most incredible feeling. She is spent on her armchair, sweating and breathing heavily, her legs still wide open. She has no wish to close them just yet. She just want to enjoy the amazing feeling coursing through her veins and the knowledge that the Doctor is still looking at her, even if she can’t see him, her eyes still closed, trying to catch her breath.

After a minute or two, the silence reigns again in her flat and his and she decides to open her eyes again. He is still there, looking at her as if she had given him the world. And maybe she has, so she smiles, proud of herself. She evens laughs, gleeful and on top of the universe. That man has offered her space and time when her life has been filled with bare contentment and the feeling of unfulfilled desire. She can’t help but be grateful. She tells him so.

“ Oh no, it’s me who is grateful, Clara. You have been nothing short of incredible. I’m not sure there are enough languages in the world to describe what you’ve done to me. I’m not sure I will be ever able to repay you what you’ve given me. Thank you, Clara.”

She feels uninvited tears behind her eyelids and she didn’t know one could be so happy. In a way, she has finally lost her virginity and she’s on cloud nine.

“ I don’t need you to repay me. But surely, we can do it another time, what do you say ?”

He smiles and it’s like she’s just seen the sun rise in the middle of the night.

“ I would love to.”

Her heart starts racing once again and she tries to will herself not to let it show too much.

“ What about same time next week ? I’ll be working at the club and seeing some friends the other nights so I prefer to wait a bit. Is that okay with you ?” “ Actually that’s perfect. I’m going to be out of town until next Monday and I’m not sure to be there on Tuesday either. So next Wednesday is perfect. I can’t wait.”

“I can’t wait either. Good night, Doctor. Sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams, Clara.” The light goes out in both flats. Clara leaves the living room and puts on her dressing gown before going to bed. She falls asleep almost right away. In the other flat, the Doctor stays awake an hour longer, dreaming awake of exploding stars and his hands running up and down Clara’s body while she writhes under his touch, asking for more.

Next Wednesday cannot come fast enough and sleep takes him as well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it's been FOREVER. But there you go. It's here !
> 
> I thought I wouldn't do anything smutty in this chapter and I think you'll be pleased to hear that I failed MISERABLY. I need Jesus or Buddha. I'm not sure. Anyway, enjoy !
> 
> Love, Callie xx

Chapter three :

 

“Let’s have dinner”. She stares at the paper in her hand. It’s a carefully handwritten note, placed in a beautiful scarlet envelope that she found in her mailbox. No signature.

Not that it needs one.

Her hands shake a little and she sits on her bed, wondering what to do with it. Her heart wants to say yes, screams her to do it, do it, do it. Her head, however, is far less engaging. She needs to be practical, she thinks. What would a dinner entail exactly ? Would it be at his home ? At the restaurant ? The Chip Shop down the road ? She needs information, she cannot take a decision like that lightly.

Their arrangement - there’s really no other polite word for it – has been now going on for over a month. Every Wednesday and Saturday, on the stroke of midnight, Clara and the Doctor would both open their curtains and engage in one of their sessions. Nothing less, nothing more. Well, not exactly. Their last encounter had been a bit more heated and far more… talkative.

_A few days ago :_

“ You seem distracted”

They both had gone silent, their breath still catching up with their hearts, still pumping furiously from their heated endeavour. He looks at her, a small smile on his lips. _It looks more sad than happy_ , she thinks. He contemplates her, how her body glows under the dim light, her chest still heaving and her legs crossed but still oh-so inviting. He has an urgency to touch her and it confuses him profoundly. Their agreement is perfect. Each of them gets exactly what they desire from the other. No pain, physical or emotional. Only pleasure.

So why would he want something that might destroy their relative happiness ?

“ I was deep in thought, sorry. Happens when one’s eyes are so delightfully entertained. “

She blushes without meaning to. He is incredibly charming for one so easily flustered when directly confronted with reality. It pains her as much as it pleases her, to hold such power over someone and yet let them rule you entirely when she wishes to. She gives and takes at leisure and so does he. They’re quite the pair, aren’t they ?

“ Thank you. I have to say that you also give me a lot to think about. It’s been quite entertaining. May I ask what you were thinking about or is it too indiscreet ?”

He chuckles. “ I might ask you the same thing. What happens behind those pretty eyes ? Do you picture me often in your head ?”

She feels the heat pooling once more in her lower belly. Damn him and his innuendos. “ I believe I asked the question first. Do you daydream about me ?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “ Day and night, Clara. You’re never far from my thoughts. You’re quite a pleasing companion, if I may say so.”

“ You may. And what am I doing, in your head ?”

He smiles like the Cheshire Cat. “ Nothing at all. In my dreams, Clara, I’m the one doing everything while you let me.” He goes silent for a few seconds, aware of what his words are truly implying. He takes his courage with both hands and finally asks, breathless : “Would you like that ?”

He knows he’s just taken a gamble on their relationship and it frightens him that he might have taken it a step too far but he cannot help himself. He has to know if she’d be willing to do more. The idea of being in the same room with her is both terrifying and intoxicating but he is more than inclined to give it a try.

Clara stares at him for a few seconds, waiting to see if he is completely serious. Yes, they had grown accustomed to each other and she was no longer apprehensive at the opening of the curtain. A ball of need and lust was actually a more accurate description of her state of mind, before _and_ after. And to be quite honest, his request doesn’t seem so unreasonable. He had already mentioned that he’d very much like to touch her and she knew they would have to evolve if they wanted to give their relationship – because it was one, as strange as it may seems – a fair shot.

She takes a deep breath : “ I think I would like that very much. But only if we both agree on the terms of our new arrangement beforehand.”

His relief is palpable, even over the phone : “ I wouldn’t dare suggest anything else.”

_Present day :_

Her phone rings before she has the time to truly panic. It’s him, probably wanting to know her answer.

“ Hello ?”

“ Ah, Clara. I was wondering if you’d received my.. erm.. my invitation ?”

The only fact that he seems far less assured than the last time they spoke gives her courage. He too, was having some difficulties.

“ I did. However, I’m not sure what it would entail.”

“ Ah, yes. I was thinking I could cook you dinner. I’m quite good with a frying pan, if that’s alright with you. I’m not sure we should talk about our… arrangement in a public place. If you see my point.”

She chuckles. Yes, that would be unwise. “ I agree. And we would just have dinner ?”

“ Yes. I think for this time around, we should be on our best behaviour.”

The words are out of her mouth before she thinks them over : “Well, I don’t know. I was certain your best behaviour was your hands on your cock and your voice in my ear.”

She doesn’t have to see him to know he’s blushing but he laughs all the same. “ Well, I’ll try to do better than that. So, is that a yes ?”

She smiles : “ I do believe it is.”

They agree on tomorrow night, at seven before hanging up. Clara then all but runs to her closet. She needed to be sure everything would be perfect for tomorrow. Including herself.

Xxxx

Waiting for seven o’clock is near agony. She is impatient as well as terrified but she knows it’s the right next step for them. If there is such a thing as right in their relationship. She’s prepared herself with care with a simple blue navy dress and a light make-up. She thought of maybe adding a dash of deep red on her lips but she eventually chose against it. She wants to talk with him, get to know him better if she can. She doesn’t want any distraction between the two of them.

She’s not sure she’s quite convincing herself about that last part but she’s willing to try. She knows this dinner is important to them. It’s not something any of them is used to, being close with other people, having a try at something more tangible than a late night shared orgasm ( or two ).

That thought makes her smile. It’s slightly ridiculous, isn’t it ? Two people so eager to please and yet seemingly incapable of bonding with someone else. She has a sad smile and hopes that they can finally overcome their own fears. They deserve it.

Looking one last time in the mirror, she checks up her hair that she has previously styled into a braided chignon and decides that she looks as good as she’ll ever be before taking her purse and her keys. She’s in front of his door twenty seconds later, her hands suddenly a bit clammy. She takes a deep breath and rings the bell. _Carpe Diem._

He opens the door and Clara forgets why she was so afraid. He looks perfect with his apron and his bowtie, his hair messily flopping above his head as if he’d just overcome the greatest of challenges. _Maybe he did_ , she thinks.

“ Hey” He says

“ Hey” She replies, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She wants to kiss him, she thinks, but she doesn’t know if she’s allowed to. She doesn’t want to spook him when she’s not even pass the threshold yet. Amazingly, he makes the first move and slightly bends towards her to gently kiss her cheek. It’ chaste and sweet and he smells like citrus and thyme. It’s delightful.

A discreet blush roses his lovely face and he makes a gesture towards the interior of his flat. Like her, he lives on the last floor of another Georgian house. However, his decorating tastes are a bit different. The first thing she notices is the white sheet that seems to recover a sculpture of some sort in the corner of the room. Tools of various sizes and shapes as well as scraps of metal are scattered around the flat and she rapidly understands that he is a metal sculptor.

“You’re an artist ?”

As if he had just noticed the state of his flat, he starts to gather some of the tools still on the floor and puts them somewhere they won’t trip on them. The whole place is full of his art and Clara can’t help to feel awed by his obvious talent.

“ I wouldn’t say “artist” but I can say that I know my way around metal. Please forgive the mess, I’m … not used to receive.”

He is in front of her, fidgeting and trying to look anywhere else but directly at her so she takes his hand. It calms him instantly and Clara truly meets the Doctor, but more importantly, she understands that it is a façade. The Doctor is what she saw all those nights out of the window : a beautiful, entrancing mask. Today, both of them being in the same flat, behind the same door, she wants to meet the man who thinks he needs a mask to catch her eye. Would she dare tell him that the man behind it could do far better than that ?

“ I think it’s amazing. I can’t do anything useful with my two hands, nor have I met anyone before you who could. It’s very impressive. Will you show me how you work, one day ?”

He has a nervous laugh and he scratches his cheek with his other hand. “ I… I’m sure that could be arranged.” He lets go of her hand and walks to the kitchen. “ But first, you are going to be my guest and have dinner with me. So, take your seat, and just wait a bit while I finish to prepare our meals.”

She takes her seat at the table at the other end of the living room, away from his artistic endeavours, while he makes a few travels between the kitchen and the table, setting everything up. She doesn’t offer to help, knowing she’d only get in the way and she pours themselves some red wine as he finishes to cook them dinner.

She has to say, whatever he is making them, it smells heavenly. Clara is not much of a cook herself, usually choosing to stay away from her kitchen by fear of setting something on fire. She does make wonderful salads ( and cocktails, but that’s not food ), but that’s about it. The rest of her diet is a mix of Asian take-away food and pizza. Not extremely healthy but she exercises enough to make sure it’s not a problem, yet. He finally arrives with a fuming frying pan and serves her an _omelette au fromage et aux fines herbes_ with some ratatouille. So, he is an artist and a cook. Her stomach loudly growls just at the sight of her plate, which makes him laugh. She’d think that it’s a wonderful noise if she wasn’t so embarrassed. “Well, that’s more of a compliment than I could ever hope for.”

“ I’m sorry, it looks delicious and I didn’t eat much today so I’m a bit hungry.” He takes his seat next to her. “ Don’t be sorry, I’m glad you’re pleased.” He raises his glass and she does the same. “ To you, Clara. I never thought I’d meet someone like you.” She blushes as she clinks her drink to his. “ Thank you and I can easily return the compliment”.

From then on, the conversation flows easily and the time goes by as they switch plates for dessert ( a crème brûlée ) and finish the bottle of burgundy. They get closer to each other and his fingers caress her inner wrist while her foot finds his under the table. Her heart is pounding inside her chest.

The scene seems surreal to her, she did not imagine that the dinner could go so well or that she’d ever be willing to let herself be touched in such a flirtatious manner by any man. There is an easiness between them, an understanding she’d never experienced before. His fingers trace patterns along her forearm and she feels like he is painting on her, adding wild colours to her skin and her blood, making her beautiful to his eyes and hers. New hopes dash through her spine and she finds herself smiling because life seems finally good. She takes her courage with both hands as she reaches for his face, making him lean towards her. Her lips reach for his and she knows that these insipid boys back in high school and college who tried to force their lips on hers where nothing compared to the softness of his mouth against hers. She decides that this is it, her real first kiss. No one else compares.

He is not completely idle. He is, however, a bit stunned at her boldness but it doesn’t last. He’s been kissed before but never quite like that. He can taste the wine and the faint trace of caramel against her lips. He wonders if he’s ever tasted something quite soft ever before and thinks that probably not. He feels her tongue, teasing his lower lip and he lets her in, opening himself to her physically and metaphorically. He gives as good as he’s got, clinging to her while her nails rake through his scalp. She moans and he bites her lip to make her do it again. The sound vibrates through him like a second bloodstream, going directly to his heart. It’s addictive, like too much air and he is certain he’ll need a second heart if they continue like that, to make sure he can take it all. He doesn’t want to waste any of it.

They eventually stop for air but don’t let go of the other, forehead against forehead. Their breathing is heavy but they steal a few kisses here and there, waiting to catch their breath. He speaks first.

“Well, what an interesting discussion.” She laughs because she can’t help herself. It’s full blown and joyous. He joins her as well.

“ I’d be lying if I’d say that I didn’t want something like that to happen, but I thought I’d have to wait for it a bit longer.” He replaces a strand of hair behind her ear. “ I think we can both say we’ve exceeded our expectations for the night. You’re even more wonderful than I believed.”

The confession goes straight to her heart. For the longest of time, she thought that emotions like love could be crippling, a burden to be carried around. The books she’d read had all been adamant, love hurts more than it heals. She looks at him, his eyes hooked on hers, his breath on her skin and she wonders if she’d been wrong all along. She’s not in love, not yet but she is certain she could be quite soon. Just another step or so and she’d find herself free falling towards him. It’s a secret she doesn’t want to tell just yet. So she wraps her hands around it for safe keeping, wishing that it’s enough, that she’s enough and that one day she might set it free.

“ We haven’t decided anything yet about our arrangement” she hears herself say. She chooses safety first and he nods, taking her hand and leading her to the bedroom. She knows nothing will happen tonight if she doesn’t want to ( _but she wants to, she craves it_ ) and yet she can’t help the slight tremor in her body. He too is afraid but he conceals it better and squeezes her hand for reassurance. He opens the door and reveals a room painted in blue midnight with stars on the ceiling.

“ I’ve never taken anyone here. I want you to see the room so that you know what to expect. It’s something my former therapist used to do with me, to make me less afraid of going somewhere. I know we haven’t talked about it much but I want to make sure everything is alright with you, so that you’re not so afraid.”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “ I’m not afraid. I mean… It’s not something that I have done yet. But that’s only because I never found anyone quite like me. You don’t frighten me, Doctor. You understand me and I think that’s all I could ever wish for. And right now, if you’re willing, I’d love for you to touch me.”

His hand drops from hers as if she’d burned him and she curses herself for trying to rush things that should be dealt with carefully.

His lips on her neck are as unexpected as they are heavenly. He closes the door behind them, gently pushing her against it. The room is almost pitch black, save for the city’s lights emerging from the window. He moves his lips against her skin, making his way to her bosom, pushing the small straps of the dress away and slowly peeling it from her body, making sure to leave her time to protest if she feels the need to slow things down. She doesn’t. Clara doesn’t feel anything but his hot mouth against her shivering body and the world outside this room doesn’t exist. She is in her undergarments soon enough, her dress being cast aside with her shoes as his hands find her legs and go up, up, up until finally, mouth and fingers meet in the middle.

She hears his voice, a raw whisper, asking her if she wants to continue. “ I will only use my mouth and my fingers, nothing else. Tonight, this is all for you.” And as if to prove himself, he kisses her there, over her lace panties. She holds herself against the door. “ Yes.. please don’t stop”. She doesn’t recognise her own voice. She’s become someone else as if she were clay under his hands and he were shaping her anew. He gently discards her knickers and kisses her thighs, grasping her hips before sliding them down to her bottom. She cries of relief and want when he finally kisses her clitoris. She reaches for his head and try not to hurt him as she holds onto his hair. The scene is glorious : him on his knees before her, sucking and lapping the most intimate part of her body, she feels like Aphrodite reincarnated while he is making her the offering of his worship. His fingers catch up with his mouth and her knees buckle as they circle her opening, easing her into it. “Do you want my fingers there, Clara ? Do you to feel me in you ?”

“YES !” She cries instantly. She needs him, she feels the excruciating hollowness inside of her devouring the last remnant of her fear. Then she feels it, his index making its way into her. It hurts before it does wonders because she is so tight and this is still vastly unexplored territory, even though she has had several sex toys in her, the Doctor touches her in places no plastic toy of any kind could hope to reach. A second and then a third finger join the first, thrusting rapidly while his mouth still lavish her labia and it’s the last straw. She cries out, burying her nails into his scalp as she comes and comes on his lips and fingers and rides several waves of pleasure while he continues his ministrations, making it last as long as possible.

Finally, the high vanishes away and she falls to her knees, in front of him, feeling incredible and completely spent. Her eyes seek his in the dark and she can see him smiling, his lips glistening. She kisses him one last time, tasting herself on him. He happily kisses her back as he fetches her in his arms and carefully lays her down on the bed. He gets up and finishes himself in the bathroom next door before coming back to lie next to her. The last thing he hears before giving in to sleep are her words :

“ Next time, I’m the one on my knees.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet Circe ! I've finally worked up the courage to write that damn chapter, and actually finished it ! I am soooooooooooo sorry this took me so long to update. I'll try to finish that one before the summer is over. I never planned for this one too be a long story ( yeah, the amount of smut probably gave that away.) Anyway, here's the new chapter that you've been waiting for. Again, I'm sorry for being so long. Those who read my Iron Man AU already know all about my academic drama. For those who dont, long story short, I'm taking a semi-break this year from studies and I hope ( really hope) that this will mean that I can write more and worry less, for at least a year. So, crossed fingers. Meanwhile, enjoy ;)
> 
> Love, Callie xx

** Chapter four: **

 

Morning comes. Clara wakes up first, her stomach growling, a bit confused as to where she is before realising she’s not alone in the bed, or that the bed in question is not even hers. She should be panicking but she isn’t. She’s completely fine with that. She doesn’t feel the need to run, or to hide or anything that could be deemed as a negative feeling. Clara Oswald finally got over one of her worst fears and had a rather heated sexual encounter with a man. And they were both in the _same_ room during said encounter. A soft laugh escapes her. God, what a strange thing to be pleased about. The Doctor stirs next to her. She sees that he is wearing an undershirt and his boxers while she is completely naked beneath the sheets. She also sees that morning erections are definitely not an urban legend. A smile slowly forms on her lips.

She wants to touch it. She’s burning to do it but he’s waking up any minute now, and she’s not certain how he’ll react if she starts to touch him through his underwear. _You are in his bed, Oswald. It’s not like you’ve broken into his house just to molest him. He invited you there. Hell, he went down on you last night! Just get on with it._

She starts carefully, her hand making its way towards his torso, traces a finger lower and lower until she touches the bit of flesh showing between his shirt and his boxers. She ventures a hand beneath his shirt. His skin is warmer than hers and she wishes she could snuggle into his welcoming warmth. But, she has a specific goal in mind and she won’t stray from it. She touches one his nipples with the fingertip of her index. He makes a small ‘hmm’ but doesn’t move. She decides it must be a good sign and starts to lower her hand once again. At first, it’s the lightest of caresses. The cotton covering his member probably prevents him from feeling anything. The next caress is bolder and she feels him shivering next to her. She decides to change gears as she palms him before slightly squeezing his hardness. This time, he moans and opens his eyes. It takes everything in her not to let go of him and run away. His head turns towards her, smiling.

‘Good morning’ she says. She bits her lip.

‘Good morning indeed.’ He replies, before kissing her shoulder.

Her heart rate accelerates and a small shiver runs up her spine. ‘I hope you don’t mind me waking you up. I couldn’t help myself.’

He chuckles. ‘Not at all. By all means, don’t let me stop you.’ He puts one of his hands over hers and squeezes. He approaches his mouth next to her ear and it takes all she’s got not to moan when he asks: ‘Do you like what you feel, Clara?’ His voice is slightly broken from the night and she nods because she doesn’t trust her own. She feels the blush creeping up her neck and blossoming on her cheeks as she looks straight into his eyes.

‘Good, because I certainly do.’. His hand moves hers and they stoke him together for a few moments. She hears his breath become a bit more strained. Her eyes are back on what they are doing and she knows he’s looking at her but she can’t peel her eyes off the movement of their hands. At some point, he stops guiding her but she continues nonetheless. Once again, his mouth is next to her ear: ‘Do you want to touch it, Clara?’

‘Yes.’

She stops stroking him and he whimpers at the loss. Her hand is slightly shaking as she puts it in his boxer and grasps the throbbing member. This time, his doesn’t restrain his moan. Clara has never felt more powerful. He is hot and heavy in her hand as she pulls on his underwear to free his cock from the restraining piece of clothing. He helps her by lifting his hips and the boxers are no longer in her way. His cock stands proudly in her hand and she starts stroking him again at once. He breathes more heavily, his hands in fists.

‘Oh god, Clara. That feels amazing. Can I touch you? Please...  I need to touch you Clara.’

‘Yes, yes, do it.’ She feels like she’s loosing control. She loves it.

He turns on his side and she mirrors his change of position. His hand goes to her thigh before sliding up towards her hip then her breast. She whimpers. He flicks his thumb over her erect nipple. She has a small cry. Meanwhile, she increases her pace and squeezes him from tip to root. Heat pools in her lower belly and slickness invites itself between her legs. She can’t help but rubs her thighs together, a movement he notices.

‘Oh Clara, I think we’ve been neglecting you.’ His hand goes down and insinuates itself between her legs. He cups her before two of his fingers play with her clit. ‘ _Fuck_ , Doctor!’ He chuckles. ‘Later, Clara, later.’ She kisses him because she can’t not kiss him. He takes advantage of it to grab her closer. His penis becomes stuck between the two of them but Clara doesn’t let go and keeps stroking. However, he seems to have another idea in mind and grabs her wrist, effectively pushing her hand away from his member. She’s at a loss before he puts her under him and start rubbing his cock between the lips of her labia and over her clit. She starts panting and she knows she’s lost to the world when he mouths her right breast, his tongue circling her nipple. He lets go of it to look at her but her eyes are shut and she’s biting her lip.

‘Don’t hold back, Clara. You’ve got to open your eyes. You’ve got to let me hear you scream. You feel so great, Clara. You’re soaking wet and all I can think about is to come on your belly. But I won’t until you tell me it’s okay for me to do that. Look at me Clara. Tell me you want me to come on you.’

She can’t help herself. His voice breaks the last flimsy barrier she had and she comes harder than last night. She screams his name as the ecstasy envelops her and her orgasm ripples through her entire body.

‘YES, YES, PLEASE, DON’T STOP’

He doesn’t. If anything, he goes even faster, grabbing her hips and doing his best not to bury himself inside of her. _Later,_ he thinks, _later._ The thought of his pulsing cock inside her finishes him and he comes on her belly, painting it with several streaks of white. It takes everything he’s got not to collapse on her and manages to roll away next to her, desperately trying to catch his breath.

They don’t speak for a few minutes as they calm down and try to process what just happened. Clara is exhausted but happy, which is the strangest thing because a few weeks ago, she probably would have completely rejected the idea of having a man releasing his orgasm on her belly. She feels sticky and sweaty. She’s also hungry and really needs to pee but right now, she wouldn’t have it any other way.  She turns to John and puts her hand through his hair before stroking his cheek.

‘Thank you’ she murmurs.

‘My pleasure’.

They laugh and everything is well.

XXXX

At some point, they do decide to get out of bed. Clara goes to the bathroom next to his room while he goes to the second bathroom, the one near the guest room. Although they just shared an orgasm together, they silently agree that they need a few minutes alone to gather their thoughts and wash up the evidence of their strenuous, but oh so pleasurable, activity. Clara must have taken longer than him in the shower because when she comes out to go to the kitchen, dressed in her clothes from last night, he’s already there making breakfast. He looks towards her and asks:

‘I hope you like pancakes.’ He flips one in the frying pan.

‘Who doesn’t?’

He laughs. ‘Good answer.’

Ten minutes later, they sit at the table, eating in companionable silence. Clara is slightly jealous of his cooking abilities, which are far better than hers. Somehow she never got the hang of the culinary arts, although it is not for lack of trying. She helps herself to two other pancakes from the main plate and puts a ridiculous amount of chocolate on it. He has a small smile:

‘You like chocolate, I take it.’

‘Yes, you could say it’s a way of life. I f I could put chocolate on everything I eat, I probably would.” She doesn’t realize the double-entendre in what she says before it is too late. He, on the other hand, doesn’t miss it.

‘Good to know.’ She blushes and dips her finger in the chocolate sauce before spreading it on his cheek.

‘Hey!’ She doesn’t let him protest more than that as she leans towards him and manages to lick the chocolate from his face. Then she goes back to her breakfast as he looks at her in stunned silence. He has to bite his tongue very hard in order not to blurt out an ‘I love you’ they would both regret. But the thought is there now and he can’t seem to shake it off. They finish their breakfast without saying another word.

XXXX

She leaves his flat twenty minutes later but not before he snogs the life out of her. She observes that since yesterday, she’s gotten far more tactile with him and so has he with her.

‘Last night and this morning was wonderful, John.’ She takes one of his hand in hers.

‘I was about to say the same thing. You’re working tonight, aren’t you?’

She nods. ‘Yes, but I think it’s best if we don’t see each other for at least twenty-four hours. So that we can really think on what just happened between us with a clear head. I loved everything that happened, but I still need some time to deal with it. And I think you do too.’

He sighs but agrees nonetheless. ‘You’re right. I’ll call you tomorrow evening then.’

‘Please do. And then maybe we can have another of our little sessions, don’t you think?’

He pins her to the door and kisses her. ‘Yes.’ She’s quite smaller than him so she’s on her tiptoes when she puts her hand through his hair and pulls him to her so that she can properly kiss him. Her teeth toy with his lower lip before she opens her mouth to his tongue. They kiss for a minute or so before she really needs to come up for air. She beams at him and likes the way he looks when he’s just been thoroughly kissed. She wonders what he looks like when he’s been thoroughly shagged as well and decides that this is her cue to leave or else she’ll want to know right now. She needs time to think and so does he. They have another parting kiss, more chaste this time, and she exits his flat.

Once she is back in her own bedroom, she grabs the first pillow she can reach and manages to smother a healthy shout in it. _Heavens, Oswald. You’ve finally done it!_

XXXXX

She calls Amy rather than Donna. Lord knows she loves Donna, who’s always ready to have a good time, but on this one, she needs someone her own age to talk to and Amy, sweet, amazing Amy, is always there with good advice. She often told her that it was too bad she had hated going to the shrink as a child, because she would make a really good one herself.

‘Yeah, yeah Oswald. Spill.’

Clara takes a deep breath. ‘So, do you remember when we had this conversation and I told you that I didn’t feel very comfortable with other men touching me?’

She hears Amy sigh on her end of the line. ‘Yes, and I told you you should give it some time to try and find the right guy. Or girl, for that matter.’

‘It’s a guy.’

Silence.

‘Amy?’

‘WHAT?’

‘I’ve done it. With a man. My next door neighbour actually.’

‘YOUR WHAT? Oh, sweet mother of…, you had sex with your neighbour?! How? When? I didn’t even know you were seeing someone.’

‘Well, it’s rather new… and odd… and great... and kind of scary too?’

Amy laughs. ‘Alright girl, start from the beginning.’

And Clara does. She doesn’t tell her everything, (i.e: nothing about the mutual voyeurism) but she tells her enough about John, how they met ‘ _Are you sure is isn’t just a creepy peeping Tom?’,_ tells her that they talk sometimes over the phone, late at night (although she leaves out that they’re usually both naked and engaging in mutual… stimulation). She tells her about last night and this morning. When Clara finishes her story, she’s blushing and Amy is stunned.

‘Clara, love, you sound really happy.’

Of course, this brings her almost to tears. ‘Yeah?’ her voice breaks a little.

‘Oh, sweetie, I know it’s confusing. It was for me when I first got with Rory and I had known him for ages before we actually started dating. But you, you were a bit more scared than most and it took you longer for that. And look where you are now. I’m not saying he’s the one, I mean the guy did look at your breasts while you were sleeping.’ Clara laughs. ‘And I still want to meet him at some point if you are going to keep seeing him. But darling, you just proved to yourself that you were stronger than all of your anxieties, and even better, you had fun, and judging by what you told me, it was _very_ pleasurable. That’s amazing. I mean, not the sex, although that’s great, but because you managed to get a bit out of your shell. I’m so proud of you.’

Tears are falling down her cheeks and Clara takes her time before speaking again. Amy gets it and leaves her be for a few minutes, breathing with her on the phone. God, why does her best friend has to be in America when she needs her the most? Which reminds Clara…

‘Oh, I completely forgot! What time is it in New York?’

‘Yeah, it’s almost 6AM but don’t worry about that. It’s fine. Rory’s not even home from his night shift yet. And Melody hardly does her nights. These days, I don’t even remember the feeling of a good night’ sleep.’ Amy chuckles then yawns.

‘I wish you were here.’ She hugs her pillow with a bit more strength.

‘Me too, sweetie, me too. Come soon, will you? I want to show you our flat, especially now that I got everything out of the boxes. It doesn’t look great yet, but it’s getting there. And then, I’ll take you to Central Park and we can eat those awful hot dogs everyone eats here. I swear, I don’t know how people can eat so many greasy things!’

They keep talking like that for half an hour before Amy has to get Melody’s bottle ready.

‘Don’t forget to call to tell me how things are going with your Chin Boy, okay?’

‘I won’t forget I promise. Say hi to Rory and kiss your daughter for me’

‘Take care, Clara.

‘You too.’

They hung up.

After that, Clara changes her clothes, grabs her bag and keys to do some food shopping before lunch. She’s back an hour later, has a light lunch and goes to the swimming pool for a few laps. She decides not to think too actively about last night. Her conversation with Amy helped her settle things in her mind and she knows now that she made the right call by spending the night with him. Of course, the memories of what transpired between them are never very far from the front of her mind, but she feels confident enough about herself so that she doesn’t worry that much about the next time she hears from John. Which doesn’t mean she doesn’t worry at all because she really wants to know that the Doctor feels the same about her than she does about him and to be truthful, she’s not too sure yet which words she would use to describe what she feels. Well _, que sera, sera_.

XXXX

Clara goes to work and leaves her bag in her work closet. Later that night, when Clara has finished her shift and the next girl is pouring drinks to the youthful crowd, she sees that she received a text from him while she was working. ‘ _I hope you mind me slightly breaking the 24-hour rule, but my pillow smells like you and I can’t stop thinking about you. I really want to see you again. John_.’

Her heart leaps in her chest and this is what she’s been waiting for since she left his flat, not that she was aware she’d been waiting for something in the first place, but reading this message from him undoes the knot that had been clutching her stomach ever since. She smiles and types her answer:

‘ _Can’t wait to see you too. Clara_.’ She hits send.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the new chapter ! It's not as long as the last one, but a lot is said in it, so I hope it will be satisfactory. Once again, thanks for all the reviews and the kudos, you have no idea how it pleases me to receive them. And it helps me to write faster too ;)
> 
> Love, Callie.
> 
> PS: I think there might be one or two chapter left. But there will definitely be an epilogue !

** Chapter Five: **

 

Clara cannot stop herself from looking at the clock in the kitchen. As of five minutes ago, the self-imposed 24 hours wait had finished and now, she’s fighting all of her instincts not to call directly. She’s an idiot, she hears herself thinking.

_Why can’t you call him? It’s not that difficult! Just press the numbers on the phone._

But something in Clara resists the need to give in. Is she making the right choice? Isn’t this going too fast? And why should she be the one calling? Why doesn’t he call? Somewhere in her mind, a treacherous voice reminds her that she’s the one who said they should wait a day before seeing each other again. That same voice also helps her recall that last night, he sent a text to tell her that he missed her, which probably meant that the ball is in her court. Said voice is really starting to get on Clara’s nerves.

She gives in ten minutes later and her heart skips a beat when she hears the telephone ring on the other end. She’s also fighting the urge to bite her nails. He picks up after two rings.

“Hey.” She hears him say.

“Hey.” She replies, pathetically.

A pause.

“Um… This is awkward, I don’t know why I feel so nervous all of a sudden.” Clara blurts out.

He chuckles. “Yeah. I mean, we’re good right?”

“I think we are. Do you want to… um… come over? Talk for a bit?”

She hears him exhale.

“Yes. I’ll be there in five.”  He hangs up.

He rings her bell two minutes later. She opens the door, sees his goofy smile and his funny bow-tie and she’s already asking herself why she hesitated to call him in the first place. But she knows it’s not an easy step for her. Nor is it for him. So she silences the questions in her head, takes his hand and leads him to the living-room. They both sit on the sofa, looking at each other. He is still smiling at her and so is she. Her hand still in his, she raises the other to his face, strokes his cheek, before leaning towards him and softly kissing him.

“Hello.” She says. It’s almost a whisper, as if she were afraid to disturb the fragile balance of things.

“Hello.” He kisses her again. It’s short and chaste but it’s enough to send shivers down her spine. She wants them to stay like that as long as they can but she knows it’s unrealistic. They have to talk. Clara has to know where this is headed before they can go forward.

“You need to ask me something, don’t you?”

She bits her lip. “Am I that obvious?”

He laughs a little. “Well, yes. And also, you have this cute little frown just there” he puts his index on the space just between her eyebrows “when something bothers you. It’s very… adorable.”

She hits him on the shoulder. “Shut up, I am _not_ adorable. I am a very impressive woman.”

This time, his laugh is less controlled. “Yes. Yes, you are. A very impressive woman of five foot two and a very cute frown. I was doomed from the first moment I saw you.”

She hits him again for good measure. “Shut up. I’m trying to ask you a question, as you so rudely pointed out. So… let me ask it.” There’s a pause, as she breathes in and out. “I think… I think we should establish some boundaries.”

This time, it’s his turn to frown. “Boundaries? What kind of boundaries?”

“Well, as you know, this” she gestures between them “is not something I’m used to. I just… This is not something that comes easily to me. Relationships, I mean.”

She sees him look at her as if he were trying to decipher a puzzle. He takes both her hands in his. “Clara, I know this is something new to you. But… if we are going to try to have a relationship beyond the…. Beyond the one that have been having through our windows, establishing boundaries is not going to help. We can’t put rules on emotions. It just doesn’t work like that.”

Clara sits a little bit straighter. “I know that. It’s just, we should take it slow. I feel like we’ve started this relationship in such a strange manner, I don’t know which is up and which is down. Is that okay with you?”

He smiles. “Of course it is, Clara. I would never want to make you do something you’re not ready for. I’m not… I want you to feel safe with me, Clara. I mean, I’ve only known you for a few weeks but I already feel like I have a duty of care towards you, and I would never want to jeopardize that. Never.”

She has a small smile but inside, a great weight has been lifted from her shoulders. “You seem to know more about relationships than I do. I gather you haven’t always been a recluse.”

He looks down, as if he were a little ashamed and Clara mentally scolds herself for calling him a recluse.

“You gather well.”

“I’m sorry, this is none of my business. I shouldn’t have- “

“No, no, don’t worry. You have a right to know. I mean, if we’re going to take things slow, we need to get to know each other better, don’t you think?”

And so they do.

She tells him about growing up in a loving home in Blackpool and the car accident when she was 15, her mother dying almost instantaneously and her, waking up a few days later, her father sobbing and the awful realization that she would never see her mother again. She tells him about her father, his emotional absence and his hasty remarriage with a woman she cannot stand. She tells him about boys noticing her at school and her growing incapacity to interact with them, but all is not so bad and she met Amy and Rory, the perfect couple who welcomed her at her new school, after her father and his new wife bought a house in Sussex. She mentions the Latimer, with whom she stayed for almost two years, because leaving in London wasn’t cheap, and they needed a nanny. She tells him about meeting Nina and her grand adventures in Africa and letting her stay in her flat while she’s away. She tells him about meeting her crackpot neighbour who turned her world upside down and he laughs and agrees that there are some strange people living about. He wonders if some of them are not aliens, to which she replies: “You’re probably right. I know this guy who wears bowties and still think it’s cool. Definitely an alien.”

After that, she stops talking and waits, because it’s his turn and she knows, deep in her bones, that his story isn’t something he shares with just anyone. After a few minutes spent in silence, that she hopes isn’t too expectant, he takes a deep breath and the words start painting a picture of a lonely boy.

He tells her about his childhood, never knowing his parents and growing up in the system, in foster homes and strange buildings that really didn’t look like anyone should ever live there. He tells her about meeting a lovely older lady who lived in a blue house that was so big, he thought he’d lost his way quite a few times. How she adopted him but was constantly sick and had to send him to a boarding school, just to be sure he was taken care of without having to put him back in the system. How he got a scholarship to a school for precocious children and absolutely hated it there, then when he went to college and finally started to do things he liked and meet people who understood him. How the nice old lady died just before he got his degree, having barely known her but loved her all the same. And then he tells her about River.

Beautiful, wildly intelligent River who convinced him to travel the world with her. Whom he followed to the ends of the earth, whom he loved more than life itself. River, who wanted to do and see everything. “She had this passion for life I have never seen in anyone else. She’d be very disappointed if she could see me now.”

“What happened?”

He looks down, where their hands are linked. She can see his reticence, as if he wasn’t willing to acknowledge something in fear of making real. She’s seen it before too. In herself, in her own father. The silence and the avoidance. The ghost in the room. The pain that dug a grave in her heart. And his. Several times over.

He is still silent but something else is happening. It startles her when she feels it on her hand: a single tear.

“Oh god, I’m sorry.” He wipes his tears with the back of his hand before standing up and turning his back to her. But she won’t let him distance himself. She walks in front of him and cups his face with her hands. “I’m sorry, John. It must have been very difficult. But I’m glad you told me. And I don’t think she’d be disappointed in you. Just worried, and wishing you’d get better.”

His green eyes are closed, she wishes she could see them but he leans in her touch and it’s all she needs to take him in her arms. They fall to the ground together and he lets himself be held. She can’t say how long they stayed like that. She doesn’t care. She would hold him until the moon fell out of orbit if it meant that he would smile at her once more.

After some time, he stops crying and they get off the floor. She sits with him on the couch once again.

“What happened next?” She whispers, almost afraid to startle him.

He looks at her with a puzzled expression. “What do you mean?”

“Well, River… she passed away, and then... what happened? You came back to London?”

He puts a hand in his hair before playing with one of the corners of her quilt. He shakes his head. “We were in Alexandria when it happened. She was like me, she had no family, no one but friends and… and me, I suppose. I buried her there and I stayed in a hotel near the cemetery for… I don’t know, I don’t remember exactly. Until the money ran out, I suppose. And then, I… well I got a bit crazy I suppose. I made up my mind that I would, I would walk back to England.”

If Clara hadn’t been sitting at that moment, she’s pretty sure she would have fallen over.

“You walked back? To England? From Alexandria?”

He looks a bit sheepish, like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar and shrugs. “It’s not like someone was waiting for me either. I didn’t have anything to do. And I didn’t have any money either. So I packed my bag, walked out of the hotel and took the road towards Israel. Then Lebanon, then Syria, then Turkey, then Bulgaria and I continued like that until I reached Calais.”

He says it like it’s nothing but Clara reads the news, and she knows her geography pretty well. Some of these places were highly dangerous. He could have been killed a hundred times over. He could have died of thirst, hunger or illness resulting from both.

“You were trying to die…”

He shakes his head.

“No, no, I don’t think so. I was… I was in a very dark place, but I was trying to find my way. I… I worked odd jobs in Israel and even took a few lessons in emergency surgery in a refugee camp in Lebanon. I just wanted to see if I still had a purpose in this world. And I did. I do. It took me almost a year to come back and I thought I could handle London after going through Lebanon, Syria and Turkey, but the truth is… I fell apart soon after coming home.”

He clears his throat, trying to find the right words.

“I was alone and River... she seemed to be everywhere. A few of my friend thought I was dead or worse and when they saw I was back… I couldn’t deal with it. They asked about River and I shut off completely. It took me some time before I decided to go see a therapist. It was like, after going through so much, that I couldn’t handle returning to a normal life. Doing mundane things became difficult, then next to impossible. I had to relearn how to live.”

There’s a pause. Then Clara asks:

“What decided you to seek help?”

He blushes a bit and looks away. “I... I saw my new next door neighbour moving in and I thought that she looked nice. But by that point, I couldn’t even cross the street to say hello without having a panic attack. Let alone talk to a pretty girl.”

It’s a reflex more than anything else. She kisses him on the cheek. Then on the forehead, the nose, his eyelids, his chin. She kisses him one last time on the lips. She knows it must have been extremely difficult for him to admit to that.

“And look at you now. Look how far you’ve come since that day. You crossed the street and even got the girl. Not bad for a recluse. Not bad at all. “

He takes her in his arms and they cuddle on the sofa, contemplating how things could have been very different if he hadn’t seen her that day, in her red dress, her arms full of boxes.

After staying some time like that, John asks her if she’ll do something for him.

“Sure, anything.”

“Could you… Would you… come with me to Kensington Gardens? Just for a walk?”

If she is surprised by his request, she doesn’t show it. She grabs her purse and keys and leads the way out of her flat. Once in the park, he takes her hand and doesn’t let go. They buy ice-creams and lay down on the grass but they don’t talk at all. They don’t need to. At least not until tomorrow. Clara feels talked out and she guesses that he feels the same. All in all, it’s a perfect date. She relishes in his kisses and he is truly at home when she is pressed against his heart. He won’t let go and she’s not going anywhere.

Later, they get take away from a trattoria not far from South Kensington station before going back to Clara’s place. She asks him if he’ll stay over tonight and he accepts. They take their time that night as he slowly kisses her all over her body, making her shiver and ask for more, more, more. He finally obliges and makes sweet love to her. They go to sleep holding in each other.

 

**REVIEWS ARE LOVE !!!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers, it is I, the I come bearing the penultimate chapter to Closed Doors and Open Curtains. On the menu? Feels, feels, tiny bit of smut, and a reunion ( or two ;))
> 
> Enjoy !

 

The truth is that it takes time. Nothing is ever natural about change. It takes time to acknowledge the fact that neither of them is going to run out on the other, or abandon them. So they take it one day at a time, slowly, carefully, as if to make sure that they aren't going to scare the other into leaving, or worse, scare themselves into running. Clara isn't sure who makes the most efforts. She is unexperienced when it comes to love and John has had his heart broken in the most terrible manner. The only thing she's sure about is that they're both going to need time. However, something else starts to torment her.

River is on her mind. She didn't know her and yet, she can't shake the idea that maybe she's taking someone else's place. She tries not to compare herself too much to her when he talks about their time together. It doesn't happen a lot, at least not at first, but after a month of 'officially' being together, he opens about her with less difficulty. And when he does, Clara's heart clenches and she doesn't know whether it is because his voice is tainted with a sadness she's afraid will never leave him, or if it's because there is a voice in her head telling her she'll never measure up to a woman like River.

She calls Amy several times to tell her about the recent developments in her love life. At first, Amy is thrilled for her:

"Finally, lassie, you've found someone stranger than you to make you seem normal. He must be quite the catch!" Clara laughs and the conversation digresses to other topics.

But Amy isn't deaf, and before long, she hears that something's off in Clara's voice: "Clara, what's the problem? Is everything fine with John?"

She denies it at first, she doesn't want to seem paranoid or clingy. After all, she's lived all her life being an independent woman. There's nothing she can't handle.

"Sweetie, you have to make the difference between being independent and hiding away from the world. You've been holding yourself back from most relationships since your mum died."

Tears are welling up in Clara's eyes. "I'm not- I don't –"

Amy sighs. "I know it's difficult for you. I still remember how long it took you to open up to me, and to Rory, when you first got to school with us. Sometimes, I think if I hadn't been so obstinate in trying to make you talk, you'd still be at the back of the classroom, trying to ignore everyone. And I'm so sorry Rory and I went away. But you have to fight for what you want and stop being afraid of getting hurt by other people. Those you love don't always leave, Clara. Unless you let them."

Clara hangs up the phone after that, unable to say goodbye, or anything else for that matter, as tears are now flowing freely down her face. She's terrified. It's taking her everything she has not to end things with John. She is so afraid to wake up one day and find him gone. She hates herself for becoming so dependent on another human being and yet… And yet she knows that there is no coming back from loving him. And she does. And she's petrified by the idea of telling him how she feels and him telling her that he doesn't feel the same way, or worse, that she's not River.

John isn't blind. He notices quickly that Clara is holding out on him. At first, he doesn't press the issue, asking her if she's alright and when she says she is, he doesn't believe her but still gives her some space and the chance to come to him in her own time. Meanwhile, he tries not to worry too much, but fails spectacularly.

A week, then two go on. Clara smiles but doesn't quite look him in the eyes anymore. John then decides he let her ample time to tell him the truth when the third week rolls around and Clara still won't look at him like she used to. So he cooks dinner and invites her to his place, telling her he's got a surprise for her. She arrives, smile in place, and he sits her at the kitchen table before pouring them two glasses of Pinot Noir. He doesn't know if it's more for her or for him. It doesn't matter. They both need it. He cuts right through the chase:

"Clara, please, tell me what's wrong."

She raises an eyebrow. "What do you mean? There's nothing wrong-"

"Clara, it's been several weeks since the last time you've let me do anything more than kiss you or hug you. And I'm not complaining. Kissing and hugging are great. I love it, we should totally have kissing days and hugging days. The world would be a better place with more kissing and hugging and-"

"John!"

"Yes, sorry. I got carried away. What I mean is, I'm not trying to make you do anything you don't want to do. But, Clara, I can see something's off and I can't help but think I've done something to upset you and-"

Clara interrupts him before he can finish his sentence and almost shouts: "Are you ever going to fall in love with me? Or is it too late?" John is taken aback, as if he's just been slapped. Clara's face betrays the same emotions. She gets up from her chair, afraid to look at him and see rejection. She tries to explain, her voice far less assured:

"I mean, River. Was she 'it' for you?"

John, a little less confused, although not by much, manages to ask:

"Clara, where is this coming from?"

She takes a deep breath or three, pacing for a few moments around the kitchen before facing him once again. "I don't know how to say that. I only said it a handful of times and it was always to my mother. I don't know why I never managed to say it to my father but that's not the point. The point is, I could only say it to my mother and now, I think that I've met another person to whom I could finally say it to – I need to know. I need to know if you think that one day you'll ever be able to tell me… to tell me… Oh shit! Why can't I say it out loud?!"

Her hands and arms are wound up around her and she's shaking. John gets off his chair and takes her in his arms. She is crying, her face hidden in his neck, and John finally understands what has been eating her away for all those weeks. He closes his eyes, rocking her slowly against his chest. He never wanted to put her through that. He loved River and yes, he still does to this day. But he's changed so much since she died and Clara, wonderful, beautiful Clara, who's as afraid as he is, found a way to open her heart to him and since that day, he's thanked the universe for giving him yet a second chance at life, and at love.

He decides to forego dinner and leads Clara to his workshop. Words are not enough, he needs to show her. The room in question is just below the roofs and the stairs are a bit steep, so he doesn't let go of her hand until they are in the workshop.

"It's not finished yet, so don't judge it too harshly." He then uncovers a large block of stone hidden beneath a white sheet, which appears to have been sculpted in. It takes a few seconds for Clara to realise what she's looking at. It's a sculpture of her, asleep and lying down in a tangle of sheets. She seems to be naked but her modesty is artfully concealed although she can easily discern the curves of her body. A part of her legs and feet are not yet done but the rest of her is… breathtaking.

"How did you-"

"I drew you. Several times. At first it was just to pass the time because I didn't want to wake you up and you were so beautiful, I just couldn't help myself. And then at some point, I knew I had to sculpt you. Just so at least I had a memory of you that would never fade away, even after I've gone completely senile with old age. I took a few pictures of you too, for the face, but the rest, I relied on drawings and um, personal experience." He is blushing by then but she doesn't notice.

Clara is stunned and all at once, she feels very stupid indeed. Here she was, doubting the man who had never been anything less than honest and caring towards her, and she just... She let him down with her doubts and lack of faith in him.

"I'm so sorry. I should have told you sooner. I should have-"

He interrupts her by putting a finger on her lips "Let me stop you there. You didn't do anything wrong, Clara. If anything, I'm the one who's sorry. I didn't realize that I was putting you in a difficult position. I never wanted you to feel like you had to compete with River. Because you don't. You're both different and I wouldn't change that for anything in the world. And I do love you, Clara Oswald. Nothing's ever going to change that. I don't expect you to say it back. At least not right now. But I do want you to know that I'll wait as long as it takes for you to say it back. Or to tell me that it's not going to happen. There's absolutely no obligation for you to ever say it back. But I will say it to you. Everyday, if you'll let me. Are you okay with that?"

Clara's in tears so she just nods. He smiles and bends towards her, kissing her chastely on the lips.

"Now, I don't want to sound insensitive, but I'm starving."

She laughs, and everything is right in the world.

XXXX

He tells her later that the sculpture was not, in fact, the gift he had intended to give her – "but it's so beautiful, surely you can't have something else to give me, nothing can beat having your own sculpture, you know".

However, he does manage to come very close to beating it. He hands her an envelope, which she opens to find inside a pair of return tickets to New-York.

"There are no dates on them, so you can use them whenever you want. I know you've been meaning to see your friend Amy and her new baby for a while now. And I think you need it."

Clara is thankful they've eaten dessert already because she doesn't want either of them to be interrupted by growling stomachs. So she reaches for him and kisses him with as much feelings as she can pour into it. After that, it's a blur of clothes being shed (or torn) away on the way to his bedroom. They don't quite make it to the bed but they couldn't care less anyway. Clara rides him on the wooden floor, screaming his name as his buries himself as deep as he can into her. Her climax shatters her as she loses her balance and fall on him. He catches her in time, still hard inside her, leaving her the time to ride the waves of her orgasm. He then carries her to the bed, spoons her from behind, and thrusts into her as carefully as he can until he feels her coming a second time and lets himself go with her. They both fall asleep like that, her back against his chest, sticky and sweaty, but happy nonetheless.

XXXX

She calls Amy back a few days later and apologises for their last conversation and hanging up on her. Amy too feels sorry for the way she handled things, she truly didn't want to upset her and should have been more tactful in her approach of the problem. Clara then tells her that John purchased plane tickets for her, and potentially him, although he told her she could use the tickets however she wanted, his coming with her being one of her options.

Amy almost renders Clara deaf as she screams into the telephone. Clara hears Rory in the distance "Everything alright, love?", but Amy is too excited to reply and starts planning Clara and her new boyfriend's arrival.

In the end, John encourages Clara to go first before joining her a few days later. Clara is a bit reluctant but finally agrees that she'll need a few days to be alone with Amy, Rory and Melody.

"Then you can come fetch me at the airport and we can have one of those reunions like in those idiotic American movies."

Clara laughs and shuts him up by kissing him. Two weeks later, she's on the plane to New-York, her lips still swollen by the goodbye kisses she shared with John.

XXXX

Amy is waiting for her at JFK airport and Clara runs for her as soon as she sees the redhead. They both cry, so absurdly happy to be in each other's arms again that they don't fight their tears of joy.

"Rory would have come with me but he just got back from a night shift and had to recuperate. Melody's with him, I can't wait for you to meet her."

Clara smiles through her tears. "I can't wait either! And I'm finally going to see where you live! I'm so jealous you're living in Brooklyn."

Their conversation soon digress to what Clara has planned to do while she's in New-York and how they'll have to plan ahead so that everything is ready for when John arrives. Amy doesn't say it, but she's quite curious to meet her friend's boyfriend in the flesh. Clara sent her a few pictures a while back but Amelia needs to know more about the man before she can form a definitive opinion about him. She hopes to do just that during the few days he'll be there. She's also really thankful that he finally got Clara to cross the Atlantic Ocean. She missed her friend terribly.

Amy, who doesn't have her driver's licence yet – "I'm working on it!" – hails for a cab. The drive home takes an hour because of the insane traffic but neither of them is complaining, as they are far too excited to be reunited with each other. When they get to her place, Amy asks Clara not to make too much noise, as both Melody and Rory might still be asleep. The door opens and Clara can't help but smile. Although she's never been in the Williams' flat before, there's no mistaking it for any other place. The flat is a vibrant and happy mess of colourful furniture, with travel and medical books stacked all over the place, baby stuff and smiling pictures of the family. And of course, the walls are painted with Amy's favourite shade of blue. Clara instantly feels right at home.

The young mother leads her directly to the guest bedroom where Clara immediately starts unpacking. Meanwhile, Amy fetches Melody who just started fussing in her crib and brings her to Clara. She falls in love with her goddaughter as soon as she lays eyes on her and directly asks to hold her, a demand to which Amy complies happily. The rest of the morning goes by with Clara cooing at Melody and feeding her while Amy watches the brunette get acquainted with the new most important person in her life. And as she observes them, she can't help but feel guilty that her job took her and Rory far from London and from Clara when they always have been such a close family. But she knows it won't be forever and when Rory finishes his residency, they'll probably go back to England. And who knows, maybe they'll have a fourth passenger with them on the return flight.

Rory emerges from the bedroom a little after noon and hugs Clara immediately.

"Finally, a reasonable woman in this house."

Clara laughs at Amy's offended "Oi!" as Rory takes his seat next to their new guest.

"Welcome to New-York, Clara. Sorry I couldn't be at the airport to greet you, but I'm sure you girls had a lot to say to each other. When's your friend coming?"

"In three days, he's got a few things to take care of in London before he can leave. And he also thought I might need some time alone with you guys."

Rory smiles into his toast. "Sensible man, I like him already."

XXXX

They wait for Rory to eat and take a shower before taking the baby for a walk in a park nearby. They all spend a couple of hours there before Melody makes them known in no uncertain terms that she's hungry and also needs a change of nappies.

At the end of the day, they are all too tired to make dinner, so they order take away after Melody is finally asleep. As they eat their Cantonese rice and spring rolls, they talk while watching a terrible B-movie that none of them really pay attention to. An hour or so later, as they are all full from the Chinese food and slowly drifting away on the Willams' enormous couch, Clara thinks sleepily that only John is missing to make this moment absolutely perfect.

XXXX

A few days later, Clara waits for him at the airport's arrival lounge. He lets go of his bag as Clara jumps immediately into his arms. He spins her around, not in the least preoccupied by the annoyed looks of the passing tourists.

He asks: "Miss me?"

She smiles, unable to stop herself: "Always."

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